Chamber of Bones
by harmonicanoise
Summary: Harry Potter is the ward of the Malfoys, one of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain. As Harry investigates the dark past of his family (both the Malfoys and his birth parents'), he finds more than one monster lurking in Hogwarts' depths.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter, sixteen, tall, scrawny, and panting for breath, pounded down Knockturn Alley with all of the force of a rampaging giant. The air stuck to his skin like glue, forcing sweat down his face and his feet and the arms he'd stuck in a muggle-style shirt; what was it called, a C-shirt, a D-shirt? Something like that, right, he thought, and forced himself to focus once again. The book he carried had a slick leather cover, and as he ran he worried that it might slip through his sweaty fingers, Merlin forbid the thought.

He turned the corner and stopped, suddenly, pressing himself against the wall. He forced himself to breathe in and out, in and out. After a long moment, he slowly craned his head around the corner. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief, turned back and saw-

"Hey, Harry, whatcha doing?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. "Draco!" he gasped, trying to regain his breath once again. "How did you-"

Draco, thin, blonde-haired, and wearing a bemused smile, bent down and picked up the book. Harry's heart stopped; he realized he must've dropped it in surprise.

"Hey," Draco said, "Isn't this one of the old books Father was going to throw away?"

"He shouldn't have gotten rid of it!" Harry hissed. "And he didn't throw it away, he took it to Borgin & Burkes. He was gonna have them destroy it."

"So what?"

"So, it's our history. It was the only book I could get out of there before people noticed."

"History, hmm?" Draco flipped through a few pages, then started to grin. "Looks blank to me."

"Wait a minute. Give it here." Harry snatched the book away and flipped through it himself. Sure enough, the pages were all blank. He felt an immediate jolt of disappointment, then felt his cheeks burn.

Draco, noting his expression, started laughing so hard he had to double over against the wall for support. "Harry… you didn't read the damn thing?" He giggled. "You didn't notice that the book you stole - was missing a book! Merlin's beard!" He cried, and Harry couldn't help but manage an embarrassed grin along with him.

"Yeah… erm, it looked promising," Harry said sheepishly.

"...Empty…!" Draco crowed. "Our family history, indeed!"

"Shh, quiet!" Harry shushed, "They still might be after me. We have to get going."

"Oh, Harry," Draco wheezed. "You're going to get yourself killed over nothing one of these days."

BANG!

Lucius's cane fell upon the dining room table with enough force to crack the wood. Harry jumped.

"Such insolence…" Lucius muttered. "Disobedience… utter lack of foresight…"

BANG!

A glass resting on a coaster nearby dribbled water onto the carpet.

"...Childish… Wouldn't be tolerated in my day…"

"Well, I wouldn't know what _your day _was like," Harry retorted, with unexpected bravado. "Nobody will tell me anything about _your day_. Five years at Hogwarts, and we've learned nothing past the seventeenth century."

Lucius ignored him. The cane fell again.

BANG.

"Is this any way to treat your father?" Lucius said, soft and menacing in a way that turned Harry's stomach. "Running through the streets like a vagabond? Stealing from a store that our family has been a loyal patron of for generations?"

"They were still our property! You were going to destroy them anyway…"

"No, they were _my _property," Lucius corrected him sharply. "And I did with them what I saw fit."

Harry's face reddened. "I don't know why you're so ashamed!" he burst out. "It's like… It's like everyone's trying to pretend that the twenty years before I was born never happened! Nobody talks about them, except to say that they were _bad_. There's barely a single book on it that's not in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. It's like you're all trying to forget _he _even existed! Nobody can even say the name - even _you _can't, and you were on Vol-"

Lucius shot him a warning look-

"-demort's side."

_BANG._

Lucius dropped the cane, let it roll away without a second thought, and slammed his hands on the table. His eyes could have spit fire, Harry thought. The eyes you saw on a Hungarian Horntail before it burned you alive.

"_YOU UNGRATEFUL CHILD!" _Lucius roared. "I have given you a home. I've clothed you and fed you and treated you like my own for _sixteen years_. I have made amends for what I've done, I've apologized again and again, and _you _insolent brat want to throw my mistakes back at me once again like all the other mudblood scum? You want me to put on my old robes and reflect on what it was like to serve the most evil man who ever lived? You want to remember the days when _the man who killed your mother_ was worshipped like a god? You want to remember _him_?"

Harry was quiet for a moment. "You've never talked about my mother," he said softly.

There was a long pause. At this, Lucius seemed to run out of steam.

"Some things should stay buried," he finally said, much quieter. "Our family's past is… it's riddled with darkness, Harry, darkness that I want us to move away from. Dwelling on the dead never satisfies the living."

"And what if he's still out there?"

Lucius put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He's gone, Harry. Now please," he started, changing the subject, "the book." He held out his hand.

Harry, sighing, withdrew the book from his robes and handed it over. "It's empty anyway," he said. "Nothing's written in it."

"Nothing?" Lucius' eyes widened. His eyes scanned the cover, and Harry saw his hands shake, just slightly. _Interesting_, he thought.

"Thank you," Lucius said stiffly, and put it away. "Now, as for your punishment… I think an extra week with the Dursleys should suffice."

Harry groaned. That was the worst possible punishment his father could have thought of, in his mind. The Dursleys - his aunt, uncle and cousin - were about the most un-magical muggles you could find, but for some reason, his father always insisted that Harry should spend a week or two with them every summer. What mystified Harry even more was that even with the Dursleys' outright hatred of magic and everything Harry, they always begrudgingly agreed to the visits. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that some third party might be involved, though he had no idea who or what that might be.

Merlin's beard… Three weeks of doing the Dursleys' chores and watching Dudley Dursley shove sweet things into his chubby cheeks. Three weeks of Aunt Petunia's stuffy glares and Uncle Vernon's bouts of spit-riddled rage. No magic, no Quidditch, no Hedwig.

Lucius might as well have thrown Harry into a cell.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had given up.

He lay on the wilted grass outside Number 4, Privet Drive, and bitterly wished some great asteroid would fall from above. The sky had never seemed so vast; there wasn't a cloud in sight. It looked like nothingness, he thought, pure blue nothingness. A bare canvas stretched like a tent over rows and rows of identical Muggle houses with identical wilted lawns. Pure, blank suburban torture.

Tomorrow he would paint the bathroom, he thought; Uncle Vernon had been hinting at it for quite a while now, but Harry had kept himself busy with whatever other inane tasks they threatened him with: working in their wilting garden, cleaning the house, fixing whatever toy or electronic Dudley had thrown through the window (which happened a lot more than you would think) and whatever else the Dursleys could think up that would force Harry to spend more time out of their sight. Though Harry was always more than happy to oblige.

Harry spent most of his evenings wandering Little Whinging in a daze. Since Uncle Vernon didn't approve of owls (spurred by one very eventful thirteenth birthday), he'd had to leave Hedwig at Malfoy Manor with Father and Draco. He hadn't heard anything about the wizarding world in weeks. It felt like he hadn't talked with Draco in ages, too, and that was almost worse. Most of the time Harry either felt like punching something or hexing Uncle Vernon's moustache off; instead, he swept their floors and prepared their breakfast.

Harry thought this and steamed a bit more. They have no right to-

There was a loud crash, then a startled cry. Harry jumped to his feet.

"URGH!" That was Uncle Vernon's cry, Harry thought, and sighed. Another day, another broken PlayBox. "HARRY! Come here!"

Harry ran to the door, seized the knob, and pulled it open to find Uncle Vernon wrestling what looked like a tiny ball of fur. No, not fur, Harry realized. Feathers. Harry immediately brightened.

"These damn… damn OWLS!" Uncle Vernon screeched.

"It's alright, stay calm," Harry said, trying to hide a grin. "That's Draco's owl. Here, Tufts!" Harry said, and stuck out his arm. Tufts landed there with a happy screech.

Uncle Vernon's face went from red to purple to a color that Harry thought probably shouldn't exist. "THIS… ISN'T… ALLOWED!" he sputtered. "We talked… ABOUT THIS! NO… OWLS!"

Harry gave him an innocent look. "I didn't send the owl," he said, and shrugged. "I'll take him outside if you like." Harry took Tufts out the door before Uncle Vernon had time to argue.

Harry, walking quickly away from the house before Uncle Vernon decided to get the broom, shook a roll of parchment from the owl's foot. He read aloud:

"Harry,

Father's coming at noon. Make sure the muggles are ready. Can't wait for you to get back here - I've been bored to tears. Nothing but me and that horrible banging sound of Father's cane all day, I can't stand it, I feel like a house elf that's just overdone the soup. Please save me.

Draco

Harry stuffed the roll in his pocket and gave Tufts a quick pet. Quickly, he checked his watch: 11:58 PM. "You sure took your time, didn't you?" Harry told him. Tufts nipped affectionately at his fingers.

Harry sat there at the Dursley's gate for a while, basking in the utter silence of it all, when he heard the sound of a distant car. Craning his neck, he saw a dash of black in the distance, now a brick, now a long, black car pulling into the Dursleys' driveway.

Uncle Vernon pounded out of the house, his eyes dangerously agog. Harry saw him take a good long look at the car's sleek finish, push up his tie, and wipe his pudgy hands on his trousers. Uncle Vernon had always respected those with money, even wizard money. It was "the way of things" according to the Dursleys. Harry only wished that rule applied to him - the Dursleys seemed to have put him in the "penniless orphan" category in their minds, even though Harry was neither penniless nor an orphan in the Malfoy house. It was just another of their strange muggle eccentricities.

Lucius emerged from the car, his skin still as terribly pale as it had been in the middle of winter, and poked at the street with his cane. His eyes seemed to land on Harry, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Harry," he said. "You've grown."

Uncle Vernon, now reminded again of Harry's presence, turned and shot him a withering glare. "You didn't tell us he was coming!" he hissed.

"I didn't know."

Uncle Vernon glared anyway, then turned and plastered a horrible smile on his face. "Mr. Malfoy," he simpered, "How lovely to see you again."

"Yes, yes," Lucius replied, barely listening. "So, it's time for Harry to go home now."

"Good," Uncle Vernon said vehemently. Then, in a softer tone: "I mean, we're glad he's going back to his real family."

"Yes, well, thank you and goodbye." Lucius swept Harry into the car with one hand and promptly peeled out of the driveway of Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry watched the house with a growing tinge of excitement. It was all over. Finally. He could feel something on the horizon, something big coming, though he had no idea what or who that could be. An East Wind maybe; or that old primal instinct lurking within us all. Whatever it was, he felt it just the same. And he dreamed, and he smiled up at every cloud in that bright blue sky.

Hogwarts was on the horizon, he decided, and whatever madness followed.

Lucius, glaring straight ahead, was thinking something very similar. He wasn't smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

The Hogwarts Express blew ribbons of steam into the air, whistling a merry tune through the din of the crowds converging on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The crowd was a mass of owls, worn trunks, spellbooks, worried mothers and stubborn children. In the middle of the chaos stood Lucius Malfoy, tall, stubborn, immovable. He surveyed the scrambling families with an air of amusement bordering on disgust.

"There are better ways of boarding a train," he sniffed. "These people trample each other like dogs chasing a pheasant. It's unpleasant."

Harry heard this only dimly, and nodded. He was scanning the crowd for Draco, who'd just taken an impromptu bathroom break.

"Uncivilized, the way they stampede," Lucius said again. "Whatever happened to common manners?"

Suddenly, Draco surfaced amidst the sea of students. He was elbowing and clawing his way towards them with cries of "Move!" and "Get off my feet, you lazy-"

Harry stood on his tiptoes and waved over the crowd. "Over here!" he exclaimed. Malfoy did a kind of undignified pirouette around an angry cat, stamped on a girl's foot ("Ow! What do you think you're doing, mate?" she shrieked), and appeared at Harry's side.

Lucius rolled his eyes to the heavens. "My own son disgusts me," he muttered.

Draco, doubled over, panted, "Wait, what's going on?"

Lucius shook his head. "Nothing. Now, the train's about to leave, and- Oh, please don't take off yet, son, there's plenty of time for that. Draco, just keep out of trouble, _please_, and don't let the Ravenclaws beat you in Quidditch _again _this year, just look out for their Seeker's left foot… And he's gone."

Draco had disappeared.

Lucius sighed. "Whatever will happen to that boy, I do wonder," he grumbled. "Do look out for him, will you?"

Harry nodded. "Always."

"Thank you," Lucius replied. He gave Harry a curt nod, which was about as warm as an embrace coming from Lucius Malfoy. He offered his hand to Harry and they shook.

Harry looked towards the train and was gripped by a sudden need to say something. "Father," he said slowly, "May I ask you something?"

"Ask it, but we haven't got much time."

"Why were you going to destroy that book I stole?"

Lucius seemed taken aback by the question. Neither of them had mentioned the incident since it had happened.

"It was empty. Didn't have any dark magic or spells in it or on the cover."

Lucius paused. "I wouldn't think about it," he responded haltingly, "It's just something best left forgotten."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't say he was satisfied. Before he had time to argue, Lucius had pushed him and his things into the mass of students. Harry, swept away, had no choice but to board and find a decent compartment.

As the train started to lurch away from the station, Harry felt himself leaving with a heavy heart. Why was his father so nervous about that book? Harry had seen something in his eyes, definitely seen something after Lucius had confronted him about it the first time. What could possibly be so different about this book than the others Harry had found in Malfoy Manor over the years?

Harry closed his eyes and thought of the trunk sitting on the rack above him. If he were to open it now, he would find the book wrapped between his school robes, blank and empty as the day it was made. Of course he'd only given Father a copy; this book was obviously special, and he wanted to know why. Maybe Professor Snape would have some ideas about it, he thought, and if he was careful he could ask-

"Hey, Harry." Harry jumped, startled from his thoughts. Draco was staring at him expectantly. "Why didn't you sit in my compartment?" he asked.

Harry straightened. "Erm… I couldn't find you," he said.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I was right next door, mate."

"Oh! Well, I guess I must need new glasses, then…" Harry trailed off and chuckled lamely.

"I guess so." Draco poked his head out of Harry's compartment and shouted, "Oi! Over here!" Immediately Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinsen all piled on either side of Harry, laughing and talking with all of the noise of a rampaging freight train. Harry wanted to smack his head against the wall. He'd been wanting to pick up that book all summer, but now, lucky him, he had to deal with half the Slytherin Quidditch team shouting in his ears. Though he had to admit it was good to see a few friendly faces after dealing with the Dursleys for so long.

"Hey Harry," Pansy chirped, sliding in next to him. "How was your summer?"

"Erm, fine, I guess," he replied.

"How were the muggles?"

"Terrible," Harry said, and flushed. For some reason he always felt awkward around Pansy.

"Oh, I can imagine," she sympathized, and put a cool hand on Harry's arm. "You couldn't pay me to spend a summer with horrible people like that."

"Well, it wasn't my choice." Harry saw Draco catch his eye, and watched his gaze flick from Pansy's hand on his arm back to him and back again, cracking a slight grin. Harry wished he knew what Draco was trying to say.

"So Harry," Draco broke in with a grin, "Tell them what happened in Knockturn Alley."

Blaise Zabini, a skinny, snide-looking boy (not that he could help it), gasped. "What about Knockturn Alley?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry stammered.

"Well, it can't be nothing," said Pansy, who now looked curious. "Tell us, Harry."

"Yeah," Crabbe and Goyle chimed in with identical grunts.

Harry looked helplessly over to Draco. "You tell it," he pleaded.

Draco shrugged, and leapt into an animated retelling of the story, complete with mimics of Harry's frantic expressions and his surprise upon seeing Malfoy.

"...And I grabbed the book, right, and Harry's still sitting there against the wall panting, and he looks so determined about this damned thing… 'It's our family history,' he says, and I open it, and the book, this supposed tome of _everlasting_ knowledge, a _beacon_ shedding light on the horrible _darkness_ of our history… is empty! Could've bought one just like it around the corner."

The carriage erupted in laughter. Harry felt his ears grow red.

"I really didn't know," he said indignantly. "If you'd stolen it, you wouldn't've looked either."

"It's alright, Harry," Pansy soothed, once the laughter had died down. "We all know Draco likes to exaggerate."

"Hey," Draco protested. But it was true.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, more stories, a few games of Exploding Snap. Harry tried to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering up to the book tucked in his suitcase. What was so special about it? What secrets could it hide?


End file.
